recipe of disaster
by januarylightsphere
Summary: She looks and considers and chooses. / china&vietnam, time to say goodbye.


**Disclaimer:** Bad things would happen if I owned Hetalia. Luckily, I don't. So you are living peacefully.

 **Pairing/Characters:** Chuviet. China. Vietnam.

 **Word count:** 1120.

Because I will never stop making them suffer. And making myself suffer as well.

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 **"The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history." - George Eliot.**

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"So, I'm going now." She says, a little too loud, as though he could not see the bundle of her belongings (and hadn't seen her pack her things in front of his very own eyes). It's ridiculous that she feels the need to tell him anything - she never told him, never listened to him, so what's the point doing this now?

(He knows. He says nothing)

The heavy silence makes her find it's harder to breath, and she thinks it's such a miracle that she isn't choking. She shifts awkwardly, feet no longer bare, because she's stopped after so many years from chasing his shoes into the world and out again, because she's grown into _this._ Now, thousand years away from when he patted her on the head and told her she was precious and started teach her everything, she's decided that she can not deny the smell of war on him forever (this smell is overwhelming, taking away all fresh rice and glass and ink). Now, she's grown up, she understands.

(He's fine with her never growing up.)

She thinks perhaps she has been put together wrong, as though she's in the wrong body, wrong story, wrong fate, wrong mission, wrong life, so she stands, thinks, uncertain; now that she's grown up, she's older, and she understands what is it inside the deepest of her core.

(He says, to us, our desires are never ours.)

A nation and a nation, no longer family, the middle Kingdom and a small country in the south, a contrast she doesn't like to think of, a canyon that so deep and wide and dark that even the sharpest eyes can not see the other side.

The space between them is too wide, that's why she's leaving to find a way to cross it. Maybe it will take decades and centuries, but now they're standing face to face. Funny, she always thought and was afraid that he would be the one to leave her, for he gets greater things to do, and even now she half-wishes she can abandon the mission. She knows, though, that some things can only found when one is separated from one.

(If she abandons her attempt now, he'll be angry, he knows that for sure. But he'll always forgive, because she's his precious — )

She used to want to stay with him forever, but now there are parts of her missing that she can not fill, anger and yearning and desire are constant in her lung, and if she could get away from him it she believes she'll be herself again and stop aching with what she lacks.

She's in trouble, full of fogs and wishes, and she wants —

—- Freedom.

Ah, how wonderful, the calling of freedom.

But she can't do it here, she knows, for he's created her world with his hands, taken it under his wings and filled it with his blood and his ink, made it what he wishes it to be. Her little world is his masterpiece.

No, she wants to create her own world, a place that he can not and will not coax his wishes into.

She's tired of being made.

(That girl, taller and prettier, is staring back at him with her amber eyes, and the middle Kingdom doesn't like it.

He's angry, because how dare she not understand?)

She stares at him, eyes challening and waits for him to say something, anything, but he does not. Instead, he closes his eyes and inhales, so easy to miss if she hadn't been with him for half of her life.

She wonders how long it will take all of them to become mere pieces of memory.

(He thinks of her, who is so afraid and so determined now. That girl has become red and gold, thunder and rain, and war and history.

He's becoming her history.

Now it's difficult to see her secret.)

She's leaving, though. Create her own world, from pieces and pieces, or find someone who can do it to her, someone unlike him.

No matter who it will be, it doesn't matter, for he was the first.

If she does not try to forget, then he was her first for many things. He owns her first step, first smile, first words, first dream - he owns her all because he took her out of the darkness and embrace her so tightly and it was the first time she saw the sun.

She remembers looking front and trying to find a glimpse of his figure, and following without hesitation.

And now she's finished with following.

(She used to be so tiny, so thin, so lovely)

Does he know she will miss him? Does he know she will try to forget him? Does she know she will be this conflicted for many many centuries? Or he's lived too long for that? Too long to feel longing and yearning and aching?

And if he can, will it be different?

Does she even want him too?

He isn't looking at her, and it's better, really, before she doesn't wish to see his eyes, how calm and gold it will be. And he can't see her shaking hands, good.

Time to say goodbye.

She picks up her belongings and says: "Thank you for taking care of me."

(Ironic. How dare that girl?)

She takes one last look at him, her brother, her protecter, her once world, who shields and cages her, who tends and binds her.

 _Goodbye._

(He blinks, very, very slowly.)

"Do as you wish." He speaks, and if she's surprised, he can not see it now. But she does stop, voice cold and bitter as the reply reach his ears.

"I will." _You taught me many things, remember?_

And finally she buries this cold fury and walks off, past the lakes, out of the house, down the hill, from his sight, in the direction of the South, in the direction of away, of independence.

(Independence. Not freedom. He's sure. She's yet to learn the difference between independence and freedom.)

She does not turn back to look at him, and even if she does, she knows she will wonder, for the rest of her long and restless life, that if he ever watches her leave.

(But they're destined to have histories, and if China doesn't lie to himself, he'll say he's proud of her. Yes, do as you wish, because it's what you want, right, dear sister?)

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